Day 13: Going home....

Thursday: Today is my last day in Bangladesh. Thus far, it has been a day of meetings to summarize what has been learned on the trip and planning next steps. The whole trip has been a wonderful experience, but I can't wait to get on the plane later tonight and head home!

Day 12: Another day in Dhaka

Wednesday: Today was my first day "on my own" here in Bangladesh. I had thought it would be a day of reflection and reading, but this was not to be. Professor Haque found out that I had no "program" for the day, so he sent his car to pick me up. He kindly took me on a tour of Dhaka University (well, the fine arts college), that included participating in a first year orientation ritual. There is no way to describe the experience. Essentially, two students played rums while about 50 first year students danced around and, one point, started feeding each other cake (which seems to be a normal thing here). After that, he arranged for me to tour the (unairconditioned) National Musuem of Art. The guide didn't really want me to take the time to actually look at the pieces, so I can't say that I saw much. On the top floor, there was a gallery where they displayed the "gifts of anitiquities" that have been donated to the Bangladesh by other countries. After an extremely impressive display of handicrafts, painting, and vases donated by the Swiss and the Chinese, we came to the "American" display. Apparently, the best gift that our nation could give Bangladesh were two mangled looking barbie dolls that they had lovingly enclosed in glass cases. The day ended with being sent off to a "mixer" at the Swiss Embassy. The cheese was good. The chocolate was not.

Day 11: The Dragonflies

Tuesday: When I woke up, there were hundreds and hundreds of dragonflies swarming outside my window. At first I was in awe at how beautiful they were, and then my thoughts turned to Amanda. I am really missing her today.

After eating a plate of fresh mango for breakfast, we embarked on a day-long journey of doing errands. Professor Haque insisted that we visit his studio before we left, so we did that first. Then, we headed off to the studio of one of Heather's favorite artists, a student of Professor Haque's named Kanak Chakma. Her work is amazing (will post pictures later)! I hope I can persuade Brian to let me bring a piece home with me!

We visited the home of one of Heather's friends--a Bangladeshi woman who attended Miami of Ohio back in the 70's. Then, we hired a driver to take us to do a bit of shopping/sightseeing. I am especially happy with a poster I bought for my office. There is a woman seated in the middle of the poster with arms coming out from all around her. Each arms is engaged in a different aspect of traditional "woman's work" (sewing, cooking, taking care of the kids, etc.). It says in huge letters (both Bangla & English), "My wife doesn't work."

We ended the day with Heather introducing me to her favorite pizza place here. I feel so guilty for eating pizza in Bangladesh, but it was delicious!

Chakma: http://www.newagebd.com/2006/jan/01/newyear06/heroes08.html

Day 10: Chittagong Medical College and the Bay of Bengal

Monday: Our only meeting today was with a physician at Chittagong medical college. I thought the picture was worth posting because it is a good example of how every meeting has ended here--after we take tea, we have a photo shoot. I don't think the picture quite does justice to his office. Bars on the windows, ceilings supported by cracked plaster walls, two fans to tolerate the heat, and two green cabinets for storage. He does all his work without access to a library. He does have a computer, which didn't make it into the frame, but obviously no online academic resources to rely on. In fact, according to him, there are no academic journals (at least in medicine or public health) in Bangladesh (and hence, Bengla). They disseminate all their research findings through the media (like the newspaper).

Again, we packed up all our stuff from the hotel (I am getting to be a pro at this!!) and crammed into the microbus. Salim was kind enough to arrange for a brief detour so I could get a glimpse of the Bay of Bengal. I wanted to dip in my toe, but it was hard to get to the water's edge. Huge, square cement blocks were dumped all along the water's edge to prevent the high tide from washing out a little market and a road that leads to the private shipping docks. Plus, it was high tide, and the waves were crashing in unpredictable patterns. I decided today was not a good day to chance taking a swim in the brown bay water.

We drove most of the day--6 or 7 hours I guess it was. I read my book--The Inheritance of Loss--which helped the time pass. We are now back at the Dhaka Club settling in for the night. The next two days are planned to be low key as we prepare to head back home. We shall see.

Day 9: Chittagong

Sunday

We woke up this morning and paid a visit to a local NGO that will be helping coordinate the communication campaign for the program in the Chittagong area. After our meeting, we all came back to the hotel for lunch. We have a little down time, so I am taking advantage of the fact that the internet in the business center here actually works. For now. But, I feel lucky to have my USA weather update from Mags who has informed me that y'all are a bit warm in the states right now. Boo-hoo.

Tonight, we are meeting a group of doctors from Chittagong medical college. Tomorrow morning, we have another set of meetings and then we will begin the journey back to Dhaka. Everyone keeps telling us that the massive floods that are coming are still at least 48 hours away, so we should make it back tomorrow no problem... Maybe this would freak me out less if I was more accustomed to major roadways being totally submerged in flood waters.

Day 8: Comilla

Saturday :We woke up very early and took a microbus (minivan) to Comilla. After about three hours, we were almost to our first stop, Salim’s parents’ house, when we had a rickshaw incident. Comilla is rickshaw country, and the roads were designed as such. Nonetheless, our driver thought our microbus could just squeeze by the rickshaws coming down the narrow road. He was wrong. As we were passing, a rickshaw and the van became wedged together. The combination of the two completely blocked the road, so after a short while, there were lines in front and behind filled with what seemed to be an angry mob (and rightfully so—they couldn’t get through!). Heather says that the crowds were mad, but not as much as it seemed. At one point, people were picking up the van (with us in it) trying to dislodge the van and the wheel of the rickshaw. The whole thing resolved after about 30 minutes, and they came up with a system for stopping the rickshaws so we could pass down the road.

Salim’s parents live a beautiful U-shaped compound, which is largely empty since all their children live in other parts of the country. They prepared the most delicious tea I have ever tasted. Of course, since I liked it, his mother (picture of her & Salim above) sent me home with some (no complaints here!). They also fed us veggie egg rolls and the sweet that Comilla is famous for—a type of sugared milk soup filled with sugared cheese curd. At least that’s what I think it was. After that, it was off to have lunch at the home of a local physician whom they are trying to involve in their research study. In addition the standard fish and rice, they served sliced papaya. It was the most wonderful thing I have ever tasted (except for dark chocolate…and fresh brewed coffee…mmmm).

We packed back into the microbus and started the drive to Chittagong. It was supposed to be a three hour journey. It ended up being about five hours of bumping up and down and horns honking and the accelerate-then-slam-on-the-brakes type of driving that is so popular here. The trip taught me one thing—dad is on to something when he insists I fill up the gas tank when it is half empty. We stopped at one point to fill up with gas, and after waiting about 15 minutes for our turn, we find out that the electricity has gone out. So, no gas. Luckily, we had enough in the tank to the make it to the next station, but many people were stuck waiting there until the electricity came back on (and you never know when that will be). We did find another gas station, and arrived safely in Chittagong. The city is loud and noisy like Dhaka and the hotel restaurant serves only Thai food. But, it was nice to have a little culinary variety at this point in the trip.

Day 7: The Sari

Friday: The day of rest in Bangladesh, so in order to be culturally sensitive, we did the same. We had planned to get pedicures and manicures since they only cost about $1.50 each (I was thinking of you Mags!), but when we went to the salon, there was no hot water. So, we decided to go shopping instead. We were intent on buying sari’s to wear to the party that evening in honor of Heather & Ananto’s (Salim’s son) birthdays. I admit, I was afraid. But, I decided to try once I found out you actually wear things underneath so even if the whole thing accidentally fell off, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Luckily, we had Salim’s daughter to help us or it would have been a hopeless situation. Picking out the sari was the hardest part. There are so many choices, and being inexperienced, there was no way to know how it would look. Once we picked one out (and Salim's children purchased us jewelry to match as a gift), it was off to another stall in a market down the road to buy the top and the bottom. The bottom was easy because, like all bottoms here, they are drawstrings. The top was another story. Interestingly, the sari’s and everything that goes with them are all sold by men.

After shopping, we took my first rickshaw ride to the party. Being on the side streets wasn’t so bad. I figured even if I bounced out when we went through a pothole, I probably wouldn’t die. I might be run over by a super thin man on a bicycle or hit my head, of course, but is that really so bad? Then, we took a main road filled with buses and taxis. was a little nervous when the driver turned the wrong way down a one way street and began to weave in and out of oncoming traffic. I know this is not uncommon, but it still felt slightly unsafe.

When we arrived, Salim’s daughter helped us into our sari’s. It took almost half an hour. I had no idea what an art form it truly is. I am always amazed at how beautiful the women look in the sari’s here. Heather looked wonderful, but I felt like I was wearing a deflated floral circus tent. But, it was good fun, and we will be laughing at the pictures for a long while.